Preparations
by Phoebonica
Summary: Kit prepares for the trial. Dewey wants to know what comes next.


Disclaimer: None of this is mine. I'm just borrowing it for a while.

**Preparations**

_Blindfolded?_ Kit frowned at the book of regulations. She'd expected the High Court to be bound by tradition to some extent, but she hadn't realised they were quite that literalistic. She twined hair around her fingers nervously. Probably it was all right. It was just a silly custom that had been in place for hundreds of years, it didn't necessarily imply anything about the judgements that were going to be made. It did mean that they were going to have to get hold of blindfolds for several hundred people, though. She added it to the list, which already took up three pages in her commonplace book. This was turning out to be a much bigger task than she'd realised.

"I don't know how you can work like that." A long, thin shadow fell across the papers, and Kit looked up with a smile. Dewey was standing in the doorway, looking bewildered at the piles of notebooks and court transcripts that were heaped up on the desk. "You can't possibly be able to find anything."

"I can work just fine like this, Dewey," Kit said, "provided no one interrupts my train of thought."

"Well, I won't be staying long. I just need the notes from the Winnipeg cases."

Kit sighed, pushing her notes away from her. "I don't really mind. These rules alternate between the tedious and the frankly bizarre. It'll probably take me all afternoon just to go through them all. At the minute, I'm quite open to being distracted."

Dewey came over to the desk. "And I would dearly love to distract you," he murmured, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, "but unfortunately I'm quite busy myself. Please tell me the Winnipeg files aren't buried in there somewhere," he added, narrowing his eyes at the dangerously slanted pile of papers near the edge of the desk.

Kit rolled her eyes. "I haven't laid a hand on them. You know where they are."

"Yes, I _do_," Dewey said, trying to look severe and failing. "Because they're where they're _supposed_ to be."

"And when I've finished with them _these_ will be where they're supposed to be. Right now, they're where I _need_ them to be – don't touch those!"

"I was just putting them in alphabetical order."

"I've spent half an hour putting them in chronological order. Honestly, Dewey. I may not be a paragon of neatness when I work, but I do know what I'm doing."

"I know you do." He straightened up, turning to the row of filing cabinets behind him. "Winnipeg, Winnipeg… ah, here we are." He flicked through the pages to make sure everything was there, then carefully slid the drawer shut again. "I'll probably be bringing these back in about half an hour. I just need to confirm something."

"See you later, then, darling."

Dewey paused in the doorway. "Um, Kit…"

"Yes?"

He looked suddenly very awkward. "There's something I wanted to ask you about. If you're not too busy."

"What is it?" Kit would have stood up quickly, but the weight of the baby and the length of time she'd been sitting there meant that she got to her feet rather stiffly, supporting herself on the desk. "Is something wrong?"

Dewey shook his head. "No – no, it's nothing like that. I just…" He shifted uncomfortably, taking a deep breath. "Do you…"

He was cut off by a loud clanging noise. The bell of the Hotel Denouement clock was audible even down here, and it suddenly struck four times, making them both jump. Kit bumped into the desk, sending papers flying everywhere.

"Drat." She got carefully down on one knee, but Dewey got there first, waving a hand.

"It's all right, I'll get them." He began sorting through the piles as Kit manoeuvred herself back into the chair.

"Four o'clock," she said. "It's later than I thought it was."

"We don't have to talk now," Dewey said, looking slightly relieved about this. "We can talk about it this evening. If you're still coming, that is," he added, passing up a pile of transcripts.

Kit glanced through them, checking everything was where she'd put it. "Of course I'm coming. It's an important assignment."

"I just thought – you know." Dewey gestured to the bump hidden underneath Kit's blouse. "It might be dangerous."

"No more than usual. We're just observing." She smiled. "Besides, I'm looking forward to it. It's not every day I get to spend an evening at the theatre with my secret lover."

Dewey paused in mid-sorting. The room suddenly seemed very quiet, without even the faint gurgling sound of water. He looked up at Kit, and there was a strange expression on his face, one she'd never seen before. As if he wasn't quite sure who she was. "Dewey?" she asked, and her voice sounded different to her, higher and wavering. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Dewey stood up abruptly, shaking his head. When he looked at her again it was his usual expression, but there was still a peculiar wariness in his eyes. "Nothing, I just remembered that I forgot to – to wind the clock. I'd better go do it now. I'll see you later," he added, almost bolting towards the door.

He was gone by the time Kit had managed to stand upright again. She started after him, but then something in the pile of fallen papers caught her eye. She stooped down awkwardly to get a better look. The Winnipeg file.

She swallowed, hard. She'd never known Dewey leave a file out of place before.

Kit gripped the edge of the narrow balcony and pulled herself up, panting with the effort. She hadn't made the climb up to the lobby ceiling in a while, and it was a bit longer and more precarious than she remembered. She was fairly sure none of the crowd down by the reception desk had spotted her. Most people didn't look up.

Hands gripped her wrists. Dewey, helping her over the railings. "What are you doing up here?" he asked, looking her up and down as if to make sure she was still intact. "It's not safe. Not in your condition."

"Well, I could ask you the same question," Kit snapped, pinning her hair back into position. "It doesn't take half an hour to wind the clock, Dewey. What's going on?"

"Nothing," Dewey muttered, gripping the edge of the railing as he looked out across the lobby. "I'm just – thinking about things."

"About _what_? What's so bad that you can't tell me, Dewey? And don't say _nothing_. You're upset about something, I can tell that much."

"It's not…"

"_Dewey._"

He took a deep breath. "_Secret lover_, Kit? Is that really how it is with us?"

"What do you mean?" Somehow the floor seemed even further away.

"Is what we have – would it be the same if - " He looked strained, as if finding the right words took up a lot of energy. "Does being a secret make it – _special_ for you?"

"How can you _say_ that?" She was aware that her voice was too loud, that it would echo and probably be noticed down in the lobby, but she couldn't seem to change it. "How can you even _think_ that I – what _are_ you thinking? That I don't really love you? That it's all just been a game? All the hiding and running and disguises and masks, you think that I'm here because I _like_ that? You think I'm – _excited_ by it? Is that what you're saying?"

"It's not as if I have much else to offer." It was almost a whisper. He stared down at the reception desk, blinking rapidly, and Kit suddenly realised he was trying not to cry.

She shook her head. "This is about the baby, isn't it?"

"What kind of a dad am I going to be, Kit? I mean, really?" He turned to her then, hands outstretched. "Always staying out of sight, living in the shadows. What kind of a family can we have?"

She took his hand, drawing him closer. "The best one we can," she said. "And all that will be after the trial. Things will be different then."

"If we're lucky. What if we're _not_ lucky? What happens then?"

"Then – we'll think of something. We'll have to."

He gave a deep sigh. "I'm sorry, Kit. I was horrible to you just now. It just mystifies me how you can stand all this."

"I can't, always. Sometimes I try to make it sound better by making stupid jokes that aren't really funny."

"And I overreact and take them too seriously. Everyone treats me like I'm some great mythical figure and I _know_ you don't think that way, but I feel as if it's all coming true, sometimes. As though I'm not a real person any more. I'm just whatever people think I am."

Kit wrapped her arms round him and kissed him hard, and he stepped back a little in surprise. "That was real," she said, pulling away. "And this…" - she took his hand and pressed it to her bump - "this is real too. You're a very real person as far as I'm concerned. You're not a myth or a poetic figure. You're Dewey. My boyfriend Dewey."

He smiled, putting an arm around her waist. "You know," he said, leaning down to whisper into her ear, "I'd rather be your _husband_ Dewey."

Kit stepped back in shock. "Is – is that a proposal?"

"It's… a sub-proposal. It's what I wanted to talk about earlier. I've got the ring," he continued, pulling a small black box out of his pocket, "but I don't want to give it to you, not just yet. I want to wait until we can do it openly. I want to get down on one knee, right there." He pointed down into the centre of the lobby. "And shout out, _Kit Snicket, I love you. Will you marry me?_ But I thought I should show it to you now. Just in case… well, in case things don't go as planned." He flipped open the box. Diamonds glittered in the lamplight.

"That's beautiful," Kit said softly.

"The ring, or…"

"The whole thing." Maybe things _wouldn't_ go as planned. But maybe they would. There was always something to hold on to. "And consider this," she continued, leaning in closer, "my sub-acceptance."


End file.
